Riding a Bike
by allthingsdecent
Summary: A retelling of the events of the dreaded "Fall From Grace."
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I do not own the show. Othewise, I would've called this story Thunder Roadtrip and then denied I ever wrote it._

The guests were assembled, the apartment hastily decorated with flowers stolen from patients' rooms, the champagne was on ice. Chase had even obtained a quickie online license to perform wedding ceremonies in the state of New Jersey just for the occasion. Everything was in place except for one thing: The groom was nowhere to be found.

"Do you think he forgot?" Taub asked, looking at his watch.

"Highly unlikely," Foreman replied. "It's all he's been talking about all day."

"I've tried his cell several times, no answer," Wilson said, frowning. "I've heard of grooms getting cold feet on their wedding day, but not when it's a marriage of convenience…and not when the whole thing was his brilliant idea to begin with."

"Well, he's got to show up eventually, right?" Chase said. "We're in his apartment."

Dominika looked around the room in dismay. "And where is Doctor Mrs. Cuddy?"

######

Several hours earlier, Cuddy and House were alone in the hospital chapel (House had sent Dominika off to steal more flowers). House was whining, because Cuddy had just told him that he couldn't use the chapel for his sham of a marriage.

"But the invitations have already been handed out," he moaned.

"Not my problem," she said.

"But where am I supposed to have it?"

"I dunno. Your apartment?"

"It's too small. There won't be room for us to have our first dance of the Kalinka as man and wife."

"Well, I'll help with the crowd control: I'm not coming," Cuddy said.

"What? You said you would."

"I changed my mind."

"Why?" House gave her a knowing look. "Overcome with jealousy?"

"Oh yes, House. That's it. You two are living the dream."

"Then what?"

"I just don't want to enable the crazy," Cuddy said.

"It's not crazy. It's a perfectly logical exchange of services. I give her a green card. She gives me all the sex—and ironing—a man could possibly want."

"God bless America," Cuddy said, turning to leave.

"You're just upset because my fake marriage is going to last longer and be more mutually satisfying than any of your real relationships," House said.

"Screw you," Cuddy said, turning back, her eyes flashing with anger.

"Screw you, too," House said. "Oh wait, already did!"

And with that, Cuddy did something she had never done in her entire life. She reared back and went to slap House across the face. But he caught her hand, just inches away from his cheek.

"Uh-uh-uh, Cuddy," he said smugly. "Violence never solved anything."

He let go of her hand and she turned away, blinking back tears. "Go fuck yourself," she said, leaving.

"Gladly," he muttered back. Then, his voice booming, he yelled into the empty chapel: "Praise the lord, she's gone!"

######

She was so eager to get the hell out of the hospital, she left her office without her briefcase, which contained her cell phone. And, of course, her car decided that tonight was the perfect night to break down on her.

"Could this day get any worse?" she said out loud.

There was a gas station with a pay phone about 2 miles up the road. She had no choice but to hoof it.

Naturally, she was wearing her most uncomfortable shoes—a pair of red Fendi stilettos. Plus, it was cold out and she didn't have a coat.

She almost had to laugh at the absurdity of her situation. Somewhere, in less than an hour, her ex boyfriend—that little piece of shit—was going to marry a Russian whore and she was staggering down Princeton Blvd in heels, freezing and stranded and alone.

Just as she was having this thought, a motorcycle slowed down and came to a stop.

Yes, the day could get worse. It was House.

"Just because I'm marrying a hooker doesn't mean you have to try your hand at streetwalking, Cuddy," House said, as he removed his helmet.

"Go away, House," she said.

"I wouldn't necessarily call you a damsel, but you definitely do seem distressed," he said, loving this.

"I'm fine."

"Clearly you're not. I saw your car a few yards back. What happened?"

"I had a sudden urge to minimize my carbon footprint," she said sarcastically. "I broke down, obviously."

"And you didn't think to call Triple A?"

"Left my cell phone in the office."

"That's unlike you," he said.

"I've been a bit distracted lately," she said, looking at him.

He looked down.

"Want me to do the macho thing and pretend I can fix it?" he asked. "Or should we skip the theatrics of me poking around your engine and just go straight to the part where I give you a ride home?"

"Don't you have a wedding to go to?"

House glanced at his watch. It was 6:30. The wedding was supposed to start at 7 pm.

"I have plenty of time," he lied, patting the seat behind him. "Hop on."

"Ooooh no. I managed to date you for an entire year without ever getting on the back of that thing, I'm not going to start now," Cuddy said.

"So that's why you dumped me!" House joked. "Anything to avoid our little road trip!"

"Our trip to the shore," Cuddy remembered. "I promised we could take the bike."

"We were supposed to leave in a few weeks," House said quietly. "I even bought you those motorcycle boots."

"Ah yes," she said, smiling slightly. He had given her the boots at work, with a note that said: "To Lisa Cuddy, future sexy biker chick."

(After the breakup, she had pushed the boots all the way to the back of her closet. She didn't want to be reminded of any happy memories with House.)

"Okay," she said finally. "You can drive me to the gas station. I'll take it from there."

"Or, I can take you all the way home," he said firmly.

"I don't want you missing your sacred event," she said.

Any time she felt her anger at him begin to thaw, she remembered that he was marrying his whore tonight.

"If I took you to the gas station, I'd feel compelled to wait with you. Driving you home is actually faster. . ."

As he spoke, a somewhat anxious thought seemed to pop into his head. "Wait. Who's watching Rachel right now?" he said.

"She's spending the whole weekend with Aunt Julia," Cuddy said. The House of a year ago would never have asked about Rachel. So she really had changed him—a little bit at least.

"Good," he said, relieved.

His concern for Rachel softened her.

"Okay, take me home," she finally agreed, eyeing the bike nervously.

House grinned. He handed her his spare helmet, which she placed on her head. It was too big for her, it covered her eyes.

"C'mere," he said, laughing.

He tilted the helmet back so she could see, and tightened the straps at the bottom.

"Too tight?" he asked.

"Yes," she said.

"Good. It should be tight. You look cute," he said, slapping the top of her helmet.

Then he took off his leather jacket and gave it to her. He was wearing a short sleeved red tee-shirt and nothing else.

"I can't wear that," she said. "You'll be cold."

"Yeah, you can," he said. "I insist."

He got on the bike. She put on the jacket. It was heavy and warm and smelled like House.

"Okay, get on from the left side." Her skirt, of course, was too tight. She had to hike it up a bit. "Swing your right leg over the seat—atta girl."

She tried to steady herself.

"Okay, put your hands on my waist. Tighter, Cuddy, I'm not going to break." His tee-shirt was rippling in the wind; her hands touched a bit of his bare skin. She felt an erotic charge that immediately embarrassed her.

"Now when I lean left, you lean left. When I lean right, you lean right, got it?" he said. "Your instinct is going to be to lean away from the ground, but that's not correct. Lean into the turn, okay?"

He was being patient, a good teacher.

"Okay," she said. "And my shoes?"

"Hopefully you'll still have them by the time we get there," he cracked.

He turned on the engine.

"Hang on, Cuddy," he said. "You're going to love this."

######

They arrived at her house half an hour later. Miraculously, she still had her heels. House helped her off the bike and unstrapped her helmet for her. She felt dirty and a little sticky and slightly unsteady on her feet, but strangely exhilarated.

"You did good," he said.

"My life flashed before my eyes a few times, but that was actually fun. Thank you."

She handed him back his jacket.

"You're welcome," he said, putting it back on.

"And I'm. . .sorry I tried to slap you earlier," she said, still slightly shocked at the memory. "I've never done anything like that before in my life."

"I tend to bring out the worst in people," he said.

"We tend to bring out the worst—and the best—in each other," she conceded.

It was a tiny opening. House took it.

"I miss you," he said, looking at her hopefully.

"House, don't do this."

"I miss us."

"There is no us anymore."

But she felt the same way, of course. Close to him. They fell into a pattern of intimacy of so easily. It was like . . . riding a bike.

"What I said before? About your relationships not being satisfying. That was complete bullshit," House said. "Being with you was the best thing that ever happened to me."

"I know," she said.

"So give me another chance."

"Your timing, as always, is impeccable, House. You're about to get married. You have guests waiting."

"The great thing about being me is that I genuinely don't give a crap," he said.

"That would be great," she said, meaning it. She tended to weigh the consequences of her every waking move.

"Then come away with me," he said.

"What?"

"Let's take that road trip we talked about. Right now. To the shore. It's perfect. Rachel is with Julia and I have, uh, no binding plans."

"You're crazy," she said.

"I'm serious."

"I know. That's why you're crazy."

"I deserve a second chance," he said.

"Do you?"

"No. But you always give me one anyway."

She shut her eyes for a second. She couldn't think straight. She felt like she had better equilibrium when she on that damn bike.

"I'm not going anywhere with you if you're on vicodin," she said finally.

"Vicodin?"

He reached into the jacket pocket, pulled out a bottle of pills. He dumped them out onto the sidewalk, crushed them with the heel of his motorcycle boot.

"What vicodin?"

"Very dramatic," she said.

"There are going to be some birds feeling no pain later tonight," he joked, looking up.

She laughed, shook her head.

"Look, House, I admit that part of me is tempted, but I can't just up and go to the shore with you. I have obligations."

"Like what?" he challenged. "What were you planning on doing this weekend?"

"Hospital paperwork and catching up with Mad Men on Netflix," she admitted.

He bit his lip, tried to suppress a smile.

"Sounds exciting," he said.

"Oh, it is," she laughed.

"Cuddy, we've never been alone away from the hospital. Just the two of us. Once and for all, let's see if we can make this thing work," he said.

"And what will you tell your guests when you go home?"

"I'm not going home," he said. "I have everything I need right here."

She shivered a bit—and she wasn't sure if it was because she was cold or because she was actually considering his insane proposal.

"You're cold," he said. He wrapped his arms around her, held her tightly. "Please, Cuddy," he whispered in her ear.

She had never been able to resist him. Not back at Michigan, not when she hired him, not under a pile of rubble in Trenton, and not right now.

"Okay," she said finally. "Let me get my boots."

######

By 11 pm, all the booze had been drunk and all the guests were gone, save for Wilson, Chase, and Dominika, who slumped on House's couch, vaguely watching some old black and white movie on TV. They were slightly drunk and completely puzzled.

"I guess he's really not coming," Wilson said.

"I guess not," Chase said.

"This evening was—how you say?–a big flap," Dominika said.

"Flop," Wilson corrected.

Dominika looked at him, then looked at Chase.

"Do either of you want to marry Miss Dominika?"


	2. Chapter 2

Cuddy had the vague feeling she was living somebody else's life. She and House arrived at the hotel—it was the off season, so it was easy to get a room—and she was suddenly this biker chick, with chunky boots and windblown cheeks and matted-down helmet hair. And it was late at night, and they were outlaws of sorts, on the run. The whole thing felt kind of seedy and reckless and disreputable, which, in a way, it was.

"I'm the Dean of Medicine at a prestigious hospital," she wanted to explain to the hotel clerk. "This is the first time I've ever been on a motorcycle in my entire life. And this guy, he's not even my boyfriend. This is not who I am. I'm nothing like this."

But she didn't. She just stood there, holding her helmet under her arm, idly leafing through the pamphlets for mineral springs and scuba diving that lined the front desk, acting like this sort of behavior was perfectly routine.

As for House? He hadn't stopped grinning since she'd agreed to go with him to the shore. He wasn't just happy, he was _smugly _happy. If the whole wedding had just been an elaborate ruse to get Cuddy to admit that she still had feelings for him, it had actually worked.

Of course, no one could've predicted the broken down car, the chance meeting on the side of the road, the forgotten cell phone. And yet here she was, being irresponsible again, swept up and away by the same cosmic force that seemed to rule so much of her adult life: Hurricane House.

#####

The room was your standard beach hotel fare—a queen-sized bed, a sitting area with a couch and cable TV, a small deck that overlooked the beach, a single-sink bathroom.

"Hi," House said with a smile, the minute they had closed the door behind them. He leaned in and kissed her.

She pushed him away.

"House, give me a second," she said, trying to collect her thoughts. "I need to call Julia. And I need to take a shower. I'm covered in the Jersey Turnpike."

"You can't call Julia because it's 1 a.m.," he said. "And the Jersey Turnpike has never looked better."

He went to kiss her again, and this time she kissed back, just a little. Of all the problems between them, sex had never been one of them. Their bodies were really perfectly calibrated to each other. In the real world, they didn't always see eye-to-eye, but they sure spoke the same language in bed.

And that's what worried her. She knew they were going to have sex, and probably lots of it, this weekend. She wanted it as badly as he did. But she didn't want to confuse that post-coital endorphin rush with real feelings, real progress. Otherwise, they'd just be back to square one. She'd broken up with House for a good reason—several of them, in fact.

"I have to call Julia in case there's an emergency," she said firmly, reaching into House's pocket and grabbing at his cell phone. His jeans were snug and it took a few second to get the phone out. He raised his eyebrows at her like this was foreplay.

"She needs to know how to reach me," Cuddy said, ignoring him.

She walked into the bathroom and glanced down at his phone.

"You have 21 missed calls from Wilson, by the way," she said, closing the door behind her and dialing.

"Julia," she whispered. "It's me."

"Lisa?" came the groggy response. "Where are you? Is everything okay? Is it Mom?"

"Mom's fine. I'm sorry to wake you. I just. . .I don't have my cell phone so I need you to write down a number. Do you have pen and paper?"

She heard a drawer open, a rustling.

"Yeah. . .where are you, Lisa? What's going on?"

"I'm. . .I'm at the shore," she said.

"The shore? With who?"

Cuddy sighed. There was no point in lying to her.

"I'm with House."

"_House_? Have you completely lost your mind?"

"A little bit. It's a long story. I'll tell you when I get back. Meanwhile, write this down"—she gave her House's phone number and the number of the hotel.

She could practically hear Julia's disapproval through the phone as she wrote down the numbers.

"How's Rachel?" Cuddy finally asked.

"She's great. She and the girls are having a blast," Julia said. "I just didn't realize that my taking her for the weekend was enabling a reunion between you and your fucked up ex."

"Gee, why don't you tell me how you really feel, Julia?" Cuddy snapped.

"I just call it like I see it," Julia replied.

Cuddy resented her sister's judgment—as always—but also knew that she was only looking out for her.

"I owe you one. Seriously. . ." she said. Then she lowered her voice even further. "Look, Julia, do me a favor and don't tell Rachel I'm here with House. I don't know where this is going—if anywhere. I don't want to complicate matters."

"Nobody could complicate matters any more than you already do yourself, sis," Julia said.

"I know Julia. I know. We'll talk more when I get back, okay? And thanks for …everything. Good night."

She put the phone down.

"I'm taking a shower, House, I'll be right out."

She slipped off her clothing, kicked off the heavy boots, turned on the water. The pounding hot water had a nice, salutary effect. She closed her eyes, breathed.

She felt a strong pair of hands around her waist.

"It's okay ma'am, I'm a doctor," House said.

She laughed, opened her eyes. She'd always loved his body—it was lean and lived in; she'd even come to appreciate the ugly scar on his leg—so few people had ever seen it, it was like a shared secret.

And of course, naked House, covered in dirt, made her think of the first time they'd made love, that night after Trenton. That night, there'd been a 20 year build-up. Tonight, it was just a little more than 2 weeks. Still, she felt a similar sense of urgency in her desire.

House took the soap from her, rubbed it in a slow, circular motion over her breasts and her stomach, her legs.

She reciprocated, rubbing his chest and his torso and his ass. He was dirtier than she was. She literally watched the dirt wash off his skin and circle the drain.

"Oh God, I've missed this," he said, kissing her slippery breasts. Then he kissed her neck, found her mouth. She rubbed up against him, enjoying the feel of his soapy, erect penis against her skin.

His hands circled her ass, he lifted her, as though preparing to enter her. There were times when House was so carried away he forgot that he was operating with only one good leg. This was clearly one of those times. She wanted him, but not enough to crack open her skull in the shower. She turned off the water.

"Let's do this right," she said, as though only a bed would do. They stepped out of the shower. Neither bothered to towel off. Cuddy wrapped her legs around him and he carried her to the bedroom.

"Now we can ride each other," she whispered.

#####

When she opened her eyes, he was gone. But not for long. He came in carrying a bag filled with a few essentials he'd picked up from a nearby convenience store: Toothbrushes, bottled water, a newspaper. He was also carrying coffee and muffins.

"Skim milk, no sugar, right?" he asked.

She had to laugh. In the year they'd dated, she couldn't remember a single time that he had woken up before her—let alone brought her breakfast in bed.

"Who are you and what have you done with House?" she joked.

"This is the new me," he said. "Greg House, model boyfriend."

He handed her the coffee, which she reluctantly took. She frowned.

"House, we're not back together," she said.

"Could've fooled me," he said—that smug grin again—and kissed her.

"No, I'm serious," she sat up straight in bed. "I don't know what this is yet. I refuse to get swept away here. I had a lot of very good reasons to end our relationship."

"I know. . .but I've changed," he said.

"I thought people didn't change," she said dryly.

"They don't. But they can change their _behavior_," he said.

"In the last two weeks, you've gone on a vicodin and hooker bender, jumped out of a hotel balcony, and came this close to marrying a mail-order whore. If that's change, I preferred you before."

"Sounds bad, when you put it like that. . ." he joked, trying to make light.

"How else should I put it?"

"That I need you in my life, otherwise I don't function properly," he said. "And . . ."

"And that is exactly why I broke up with you. I'm not your savior House. I have to put the needs of Rachel first. And I have my own needs, too."

"Let me finish. . ." House said. "And now that I know how much my life sucks without you, I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure that you never want to dump me again. Ergo, Greg House: model boyfriend."

She sighed. She didn't want to fight with him. He looked cute: He had bought a completely inappropriate T-shirt at the convenience store—it was a white shirt with a pink anthropomorphized bubble on it and blue writing that said Mr. Bubble.

"Where'd you get that ridiculous shirt," she laughed, playfully tapping his chest.

"Bargain bin! I got you one, too!" he reached into the plastic bag and pulling out a smaller version of the shirt. "In honor of how much fun it was to get clean last night."

"Thank you," she said. Damn him for being so cute. "Look House. I don't want to fight. Let's not label this as anything, okay? Let's just enjoy the weekend and have fun."

"That's all I ever wanted," he lied.

#####

They got joint massages later (House told Cuddy he was hoping for the "delayed happy ending") and then went to a little sea shanty for lunch, where they drank bad white wine and ate steamed clams and bought a whiskey for a crusty old man at the bar—"Wilbur" they had nicknamed him— who scowled at them before guzzling the down the drink.

"That guy's my hero," House said.

Both a little tipsy, and now fully in relaxed vacation mode, they made their way back to the hotel.

The minute they entered the room, Cuddy was all over him.

"Hold that thought," House said. "I should probably call Aunt Wilson."

Cuddy flopped on the bed, pouting a bit. She'd been thinking about ravaging him all day.

"Five minutes," he said. "I image Wilson is putting out an APB at this point."

House sat on the bed next to her, called his friend.

"Soooo. . . Did anyone marry Dominika last night?" he asked.

"You certainly didn't," Wilson grumbled. His voice registered a mixture of anger and relief.

"True."

"Where the hell are you, House? I was this close to putting your face on a milk carton."

"I'm at the shore," House said. "With Cuddy."

"Lisa Cuddy?"

"No Arlene Cuddy. You didn't notice the explosive sexual chemistry between us?"

As he spoke, Cuddy was unbuttoning his shirt from behind him, trying to distract him.

"Is this some sort of . . . abduction thing? Will there be a ransom note?" Wilson asked.

"Cuddy is here by her volition. Isn't that right, Cuddy?"

"Help me, Wilson!" Cuddy joked, kissing House's neck. "I'm his prisoner!"

"And there you have it," House said.

Cuddy bit his ear.

"Ouch!" he mouthed.

She gave him a mischievous grin.

"Sounds like you two are having fun," Wilson said.

"We are."

She was reaching into his already at-attention pants now, but he swatted her hand away. If she went any further, the possibility of coherent conversation with Wilson would be completely out the window.

"And is this a permanent thing?" Wilson was saying. "You guys going to become beach bums? Lifeguards by day, doctors by night?"

"We'll be back on Monday," House said. Ignoring his protests, Cuddy had managed to unbutton his jeans. She was now going for his boxers.

"House, are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"Of course," House said, leaning back a little and kicking his legs to facilitate her progress.

"Hang the fuck up," she mouthed, kissing his stomach.

"I'm trying," he mouthed back.

"Alright, be careful," Wilson said skeptically. "Because if this all ends badly, I don't want to find you on the edge of anymore balconies, okay?"

House was on the edge of something—but it sure as hell wasn't a balcony.

"It's not going to end badly," he managed to croak out, before hanging up and letting out a loud moan.

Apparently, there was going to be a happy ending after all.

#####

Cuddy took full advantage of House in model boyfriend mode and asked if he'd be up for visiting a nearby town that was famous for its antique shops.

"It would be my pleasure to watch you shopping for end tables and candlesticks that you don't buy," he said.

They took the bike—Cuddy had gotten pretty adept and getting on and off at this point, and she loved how solid and dependable House felt when they were riding. (Ironically, riding a motorcycle with House was one of the least dangerous things they did together.)

He tagged along dutifully as they roamed from store to store, hanging back sometimes, and watching her shop.

In one shop, a middle-aged woman in frumpy pink sweatshirt with a picture of a cat on it approached her and said knowingly: "You're lucky. My Arthur hasn't gone antiquing with me in years."

Cuddy laughed.

"He's just humoring me. He's bored to tears."

The woman looked over at House. "He doesn't seem bored. The way he looks at you." She smiled at House in a longing sort of way that said: My Arthur hasn't looked at me like that in years.

"You guys newlyweds?" she asked.

Cuddy snorted.

"Not even close," she said.

The woman shrugged. "Well, I'd say he's a keeper."

"Huh," Cuddy said vaguely, and she turned the brass candlestick she was looking at over to see the price.

"What did that lady want?" House asked later. "Did she want to recruit you into her army of cat-loving needlepoint enthusiasts?"

"Shut up, she was nice," Cuddy said. "She called you a keeper."

"I knew she was a woman of discerning taste," House said.

"Ha ha."

After shopping, she called Julia and asked to speak to Rachel. She was hoping that in Rachel's rush of stories of her weekend adventures—the petting zoo, a pizza place with a real-live clown, a movie with talking penguins—she would forget to ask Cuddy where she was. But Rachel never missed a beat.

"Mama, where are you?" she asked. "You sound different."

"This isn't my cell phone. I'm on vacation," Cuddy said. "With . . . a friend."

"Which friend, mama?"

Cuddy hesitated.

"No one you know, sweetie."

She was glad that House was out of earshot and couldn't hear her lie.

That night, they bought some cheese and crusty bread and wine and laid out a picnic on the beach.

House made a fire, and they sat with the blanket draped over them, looking at the stars.

Cuddy put her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. There was no denying it, it had been a wonderful day—a wonderful weekend so far. House kissed the top of her head.

"I'm so happy," he said, almost to himself.

#####

House wasn't always the best sleeper—a toxic combination of leg pain and a brain that never shut off often kept him awake, but tonight he was sleeping like a baby, his arm wrapped around her. It was Cuddy who couldn't sleep.

They were leaving the beach tomorrow. And then what? Were they back together?

"Once and for all, let's see if we can make this thing work," he had said to her.

But this wasn't the real test at all, was it? It was easy to be in love when it was just the two of them, a vacation from reality, without Rachel, without the hospital, without any of the messy banalities of everyday life.

But what had really changed since she'd made the painful decision to leave him?

If anything, he had lived _down_to her expectations since the breakup. He spiraled so quickly out of control—in a devastating display of suicidal debauchery and remorseless sadism. Could she really allow Rachel to be around such a volatile man?

And being around House made her do reckless things, too, like lie on witness stands, and break wedding engagements, and take impromptu motorcycle trips to the shore. (Even lying to Rachel on the phone earlier made her feel ill at ease. She had never lied to her daughter like that before.)

But . . .but. . . reaching into the plastic bag for a bottle of water, she had found a stuffed duck. The famously cranky and misanthropic Dr. Gregory House had bought a corny little gift for Rachel at the convenience store. This was the sort of thing he made fun of Wilson for doing.

She looked at him, watched the rise of fall of his chest as he slept. Every time she moved, his arm resettled on her—even his subconscious craved her nearness.

She felt a tear trickle down her cheek. She wished things didn't have to be so hard.

#####

He woke up the next morning and she was gone from the bed. He didn't even think twice about it. He figured she had probably snuck out for an early morning run. She didn't like rubbing his face in the things they couldn't do together.

Then he saw the note on the pillow. Alarmed, he sat up, read it.

_I'm sorry.  
>I love you, but I just can't do this.<br>-C_

He got out of bed so quickly, his leg buckled. His heart was beating wildly in his chest. He limped frantically to the door, and regarded the empty hallway with dread.

"Cuddy!" he screamed.

But she was already gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note: This gets quite angsty, especially for poor Cuddy. Don't lose faith.**

At about 11:30 on Sunday night, there was a rather loud and persistent banging at Wilson's front door. Wilson rolled his eyes, set down the spy novel he was reading, and put on his slippers.

"What now, House?" he grumbled, opening the door.

But it wasn't House. It was Cuddy. Her eyes were bloodshot (from drinking? from crying?), and she looked like she hadn't slept in days.

"Cuddy, my God. Are you okay? What's wrong?"

Wilson led her into the living room. She wobbled a bit as she followed. It was jarring to see her looking so, well, _House_-_like_. Usually she was so perfectly put together.

"I'm sorry," Cuddy slurred. "I didn't know where else to go."

"You came to the right place," Wilson said.

He sat on the couch and gestured for Cuddy to sit beside him.

"So what did House do this time?" he asked matter-of-factly.

"Nothing," Cuddy said pathetically. "He was nice."

"Nice is. . . _nice_, right?" he said, confused.

Cuddy put her head in her hands. "I left a note, Wilson," she said.

"A note?"

"I left him alone in the hotel room and I wrote him a note."

The realization of what she was saying began to sink in.

"Cuddy. . .you didn't."

"I did." A big fat tear rolled down her cheek. "I couldn't face him. I couldn't reject him to his face."

"But why?" Wilson said, handing her a Kleenex. "You guys seemed so happy on the phone."

"We were."

"Then why leave?"

"Because it wasn't real, Wilson. It was a mirage. It could never last." She looked at him beseechingly. "Do you understand what I'm saying at all?"

"Maybe. A little."

There was a long silence.

"So is he okay?" she finally asked.

"Cuddy, I have no idea. I haven't heard from him. I thought he was with you. I thought he was happy and at the shore and with you."

Wilson was genuinely trying to understand her, but a part of him was furious at Cuddy for what she had done. She knew what a fragile state House was in. To get his hopes up and then pull the rug out from under him like that? It was beyond cruel. God knows where House was now. Wilson didn't dare guess.

Still, there would be time for recriminations later. Right now, Cuddy needed a friend. She looked positively distraught.

"Why don't you sleep this off and we can talk tomorrow," he said gently. "You can stay in the guest bedroom."

He went into his room, got a McGill t-shirt and a pair of his flannel pajama bottoms that Sam had liked to sleep in, handed them to her.

"Bathroom's that way," he said.

She dutifully obeyed. Once she was in bed, he brought her a couple of aspirin and a glass of water.

"Take these. You'll feel better in the morning."

She smiled at him gratefully. Took the aspirin.

"You're a good friend, Wilson," she said, her voice already muffled by the pillow. "You're a good man. . . Tell House that I . . ."

But before she could finish the sentence, she was sound asleep.

######

In the morning, he brought her strong coffee. She rubbed her eyes, took the mug, blew into the hot liquid.

"I'm so sorry," she said, taking a sip. "I'm so embarrassed by my behavior last night."

"It's okay, Cuddy. You're only human, much as you hate to admit it. . . I'm just still trying to understand why you did what you did."

He had, in fact, spent a rather restless night worried about his friend. Once again, House wasn't returning his phone calls.

"Because nothing has changed, Wilson. We talked about this already. All of the reasons why I broke up with him are still true. He's still selfish, immature, an addict, and too much of a risky proposition to have around my child."

"Then why go with him in the first place? Why get his hopes up?"

She sighed.

"Because he has this way of throwing off my equilibrium, you know? I got swept away. I shouldn't have done it. I know that."

"No, you shouldn't have," he said firmly.

"You're mad at me."

"Well, yeah, Cuddy. Because who do you think is going to have to pick up the pieces? It was bad enough last time. It's going to be worse now. He thought you two were getting back together."

"I never made any promises," she protested. "I never said I was taking him back."

"Of course, he assumed. . ."

"But he tricked me! He staged this ridiculous wedding, he rescued me along the side of the road, whisked me away. He didn't give me a chance to think!"

"But you know how vulnerable he is!" Wilson was surprised to hear the anger in his own voice. "It was your place to be strong, not his. I'm sorry, I have to say, I'm on House's side here."

"You're always on his side," Cuddy muttered.

"Well, somebody has to be."

######

She went home and showered and changed. When she got to the office, she made her way to the DDx room. The team was assembled, but no House.

"Where's House?" she asked.

"He called in dumped," Foreman said.

"What?"

"He said you dumped him again and he'd be back in tomorrow. Nice work, Cuddy."

She gave him a forbidding look that said: You may know things about my private life but that still doesn't give you the right to talk to me that way.

She had her assistant clear her schedule and she borrowed one of the nurse's cars (her own car was still at the repair shop) and drove to House's. She had to apologize in person. To try to explain the unexplainable.

Steeling herself, she knocked on his door. She didn't know what to expect. Would he answer with a hooker on each arm? Would he be drowning his sorrows with pills and booze? Or worse, would she find him face down in a pool of his own vomit?

What she didn't expect was for him to come to the door looking reasonably put together. Dressed, showered, more-or-less shaved.

"Go away, Cuddy," he said, when he saw her.

"We need to talk," she said.

"No, actually we don't," he said.

"Can I please come in?"

He stepped aside wordlessly. She entered his apartment.

"I want to apologize," she said.

"Apology not accepted," he said. He looked at her unblinkingly. His eyes weren't glassy. Definitely not on drugs.

"What I did was. . .I regret it."

"I don't," he said.

"You don't?" Now it was her turn to be confused.

"No, because you helped me come to a realization, Cuddy. And that realization is this: I'm done. I've spent the better part of three years pining away for you. Trying to please you, trying not to disappoint you, begging you to love me. And you know what? It's over. I'm not your whipping boy anymore. I'm not your backup plan. I'm not the guy who's going to always be there for you to make you feel good about yourself. You get your wish. I'm done."

"That's not what I want," she said, her lip quivering. "I don't know what I want."

"Well, I do. And that is to never lay eyes on you again. But since that's obviously impossible, let's just stay out of each other's way as much as we can, okay?"

She contemplated his face. Over the years, he had looked at her with love, lust, mischief, sadness, even anger. But never this. His eyes were completely cold.

Despite herself, tears began streaming down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm _sorry_!"

She expected him to give her a hug, at least offer her his sleeve to wipe her eyes on. But he continued to stare at her impassively.

"I want you to go," he said, leading her to the door.

"I still love you," she said feebly.

"Good for you," he said, and he slammed the door in her face.

######

She picked Rachel up after work and seeing her beautiful little girl raised her spirits quite a bit. They had a cheery dinner, with Rachel blathering on nonstop about her weekend with Aunt Julia and her older nieces who brushed her hair and dressed her up in sunglasses and hats and told her about the best singer in the whole wide world whose name was Justin Bieber.

But as soon as Cuddy got into bed, her thoughts turned back to House. This weekend, she had felt so close to him. Now he seemed a million miles away. And suddenly she realized, with some clarity of her own, that she wanted him. She _needed _him in her life. Only an idiot would throw away a man who made her feel the way he did.

And it struck her that what House had said back in his apartment was true. She _was_ counting on him to always be in her life, to always be there when it suited her needs. And the idea that he might be gone for good filled her with a kind of incalculable dread.

Her mind kept flashing to the way he had stared at her earlier. Anger and fury, that she could've handled. But that coldness. The thought sent a chill down her spine.

Oh Lisa, what have you done?

"Mama, why are you crying?" Rachel was standing next to her bed, in her footie pajamas.

"I'm thinking of something sad," Cuddy said.

"Don't think of sad things, mama," Rachel said.

"I can never be sad when you're around," Cuddy said, smiling, giving her daughter a hug. "Why don't you sleep in my bed tonight?"

Rachel happily hopped in and curled up next to her. Cuddy held onto her like she was clinging to a lifeline.

************

Two days later, she got a curious email. It was entitled: _Request for Full-Body Radiation_. It was from House.

In the email, he laid out all his reasons for the radical treatment. It was very thorough, very well-organized, and very clear. It had bullet points.

"If you agree to the procedure, please let me know, via email, as soon as possible" the letter ended. It was signed, "In anticipation of your prompt response, Dr. Gregory House."

'This is total bullshit," she said, staring at the screen. She printed the letter and marched down to House's office.

He was with his team, in the DDx room.

"House, your office!" she said.

He followed her into his office, stood beside her, his arms folded.

"What the hell is this?" she asked, waving the email accusingly.

"I would think it's pretty self-evident," he said.

"So this is how you're going to request risky procedures now? Via interoffice email?"

"I told you I wanted to minimize our contact with each other. I don't see the problem. Did you read it?"

"Of course," she said.

"Then what's your answer? Can I do the radiation or not?"

She shot him an angry look.

"No!" she said.

"Fine," he said calmly, starting to exit the office.

"That's it?" Cuddy asked. "No smart comebacks? No pushback?"

"I told you. Everything I have to say to you is in that email," he said.

Cuddy sighed, scratched the top of her nose.

"Fine. You can do it. But only if you fully explain the risks to the patient."

"I already have."

He nodded at her curtly, and went back to his team.

######***

She was expecting a thaw in his behavior, but if anything, it got worse. He avoided her at all costs. If something needed to be signed, or if a scan needed to be shared, he sent Taub or Chase. He stayed out of the cafeteria. When he was forced to talk to her, he acted like they were complete strangers.

One day, about 3 weeks after they'd gotten back from the shore, she ran into him in the hallway.

He limped past her, avoiding eye contact.

"House," she said. She touched his arm. He bristled.

"How are you?" she said meekly.

"I'm fine. How are you?"

"Not good," she admitted.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said, and hobbled away.

That night after work, she made her way to the bar at the New Jersey Hilton and ordered a dry martini, then another. Something called the HVAC Contractors Summit was in town. She scanned the lounge in dismay. The pickings were slim: Lots of men in pleated khakis and ill-fitted polyester sports coats wearing nametags. They all stared back at her hungrily.

Finally, she saw a guy—early 40s, cropped blond hair. He had been handsome once, possibly a high school athlete, but he was losing his looks. His hair was thinning in a less than flattering way, and he was getting a gut. He had about two or three more years of being even remotely attractive, but he didn't quite know it yet.

He saw her notice him. She raised her glass. He was by her side as though he had been summoned, which, she supposed, he had been.

"Hi," he said, inordinately pleased with himself. "You here alone?"

She nodded.

"Can I buy you a drink?" She could see the tan line from where he had removed his wedding ring.

"I don't see why not."

He ordered two drinks, looked at her skeptically. "Are you here for the convention?"

She laughed, trying not to show her derision.

"No, I'm just having a drink."

"And you live here in town?" he asked.

"It would be so much better if we didn't talk," Cuddy said.

He nodded. He was fine with that.

They finished their drinks and ordered two more.

"So," Cuddy said, downing the last of her fourth martini. "What room are you in?"

######

"I'm worried about Cuddy."

House and Wilson were having lunch at a little tavern near the hospital. House had definitely been in "leave me alone" mode since returning from the beach, but Wilson was guardedly pleased with his friend's behavior. He wasn't on drugs, he wasn't acting out, he wasn't doing anything extreme. If anything, it was just the opposite. House had seemed strangely muted for the past few weeks, like the volume had been turned down on his entire personality.

"I don't want to talk about her," House said.

"I know you don't. . .but—and I never thought I'd hear myself say this—she needs you."

"No," House said. "She doesn't."

"She's kind of lost right now. She's been testy with staffers, showing up late for meetings—she accidentally signed off on an order for 5,000 new microscopes. We only needed 50."

House took a bite of his burger.

"Sounds dire," he said sarcastically.

"It is," Wilson said. "She's meeting with the board next week to talk about her contract renewal. The timing couldn't be worse. She's not herself."

"She'll be fine," House said. "She's always fine."

"She's been going to hotel bars and picking up strange men," Wilson said, staring at House pointedly. He hadn't been planning on sharing this particular detail, but House had left him no choice.

House's face reddened. For a second, he looked like he wanted to deck someone, possibly Wilson.

He finally composed himself.

"That's not like her," he managed to say.

"No," Wilson said. "I feel like she's punishing herself. She's in a pretty dark place. She feels terrible about what happened between you. She's positively crippled with guilt. But she says that you won't let her try to explain. . . .If you could just talk to her. . ."

House glared at him.

"I don't know what you want from me!" he said angrily. "She was the one who ditched me, remember? She was the one who left a goddamned note!"

"Well, House. If your plan was some sort of psychological warfare to make Cuddy feel like shit about herself, you've won again. She's a mess. So. . . good job."

House looked down at his plate. He picked up a French fry and stared at it, but found that he was no longer hungry.

######**

It felt like the walls were closing in on her. Three months ago, Cuddy had discovered that top administrators at similarly-sized hospitals—all male, of course—were making considerably more money than she was. She had demanded a raise for the next fiscal year, and threatened to walk if her terms weren't met.

Now the board was convening to discuss her fate. But three months seemed like a lifetime ago. She tried to conjure up the old Lisa Cuddy. The one who was so self-confident, so completely fearless, she had arranged for this meeting. She was having a hard time locating her right now.

In fact, all she wanted to do was crawl into a hole and disappear. Whatever her salary was, it was more than enough. She wasn't prepared to defend herself.

They were hurling accusations at her: Botched inventory, rumors of erratic behavior, that fiasco with the neurosurgeon where they almost lost their Level 1 Trauma status.

"And what about the gamble you took with our insurance coverage?" board chairman Bob Poindexter asked.

"That was a calculated risk," Cuddy said. "But it paid off. I saved the hospital millions of dollars."

"But what it if hadn't paid off? It could've been a disaster of unprecedented proportions for this hospital."

"We were being taken advantage of!" Cuddy protested. "If we had caved, they would've had us over a barrel."

"And I repeat," Poindexter said. "What if they hadn't agreed to our terms?"

"I. . .I. . ."

"She would've handled it," a familiar voice said. "Just like she handles everything else around this hospital."

A man was standing in the doorway: House.

"Dr. House, what are you doing here?" Poindexter asked testily.

"I just want to say my piece, and then I'll go," House said. 

He cleared his throat.

"You all hired Lisa Cuddy 14 years ago—when she was a mere girl, really—because she was a shooting star and you wanted to hitch a ride as far as she would take you . . Well, that and because you all wanted to sleep with her." He winked at the only female board member. "Don't worry Janet, your secret is safe with me."

He paused for a second, then continued.

"Since then, everything she has done has justified your confidence in her. She has raised this hospital's reputation, here and nationally. She has secured countless teaching and research grants. She is beloved by her staff, respected by the medical community at large. If I may use this analogy: We are the ugly guy at the bar and she is the hot girlfriend that no one understands how we scored. Well, we scored her, my esteemed friends, because she genuinely loves us—loves this hospital, its patients, its staff, yes, she even loves me. And trust me when I say, I'm not that easy to love."

He looked over at Cuddy. Her mouth was hanging open.

"I've never met someone as passionate and as committed to her work as Dr. Lisa Cuddy," he said. "She fights for us, every day, and we're damn lucky to have her in our corner. You'd be insane not to give her every penny she's asking for—and then some. Thank you."

He started for the door.

"Oh, and one last thing," he said, as though an afterthought. "If she doesn't get the raise, I'm leaving and taking my entire diagnostic team to Princeton General with me. Good night."

######

It was about 8 o clock that night when Cuddy made her way up to House's office. He was reading some files. The lights were out except for the reading lamp on his desk. He looked up from his glasses.

"I got the raise," she said, somewhat sheepishly.

He smiled at her. "I know. I heard."

"Thanks to you," she said.

"No, I'm pretty sure you're the one they wanted," he said.

She looked at the floor.

"Well, thanks all the same."

"You're welcome."

She took a step closer to him.

"Do you want to hear something insane?" she said. "As happy as I was that I didn't have to quit on principle"—she chuckled at the absurdity of it all—"I think I was even happier that you had my back."

"I always have your back, Cuddy," he said, meeting her gaze. It was nice to see his real eyes again.

"I honestly thought you didn't care anymore," she said.

"Then I guess I'm a good actor," he said. 

"So that was an. . .act?" she said cautiously.

"Put it to you this way," House said. "The anger was quite real. The not caring about you part? I'll never stop caring about you Cuddy. Not in this lifetime or any other."

She felt her eyes welling up.

"House?" she said tentatively. "I'm so sorry about everything that happened at the beach. It was so perfect, it was . . .I panicked. I couldn't believe it was all real."

"I know," he said.

"So you forgive me?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Thank God," she said with a grim laugh.

"And I'm sorry I've been such a dick this past month," he said.

"It's okay, I deserved it."

"No, you didn't. You deserve only good things."

She smiled, looked at the floor.

"C'mere," he said.

She walked to his side. He stood up, gave her a long hug, kissed the hollow of her neck. She closed her eyes, tried not to get tears on his shirt.

They parted.

"I should probably get back to these papers," he said finally.

She was a little disappointed. But it was enough. It would have to be enough—for now.

"Okay, I'll leave you then. Good night," she turned to leave.

When she got to the door he said, "Cuddy?"

"Yes, House?"

"Does the newly tenured Dean of Medicine at Princeton Plainsboro ever date any of her doctors?"

With her back to him, she smiled.

"Only the ones who are truly extraordinary," she said.

"Good, because I was wondering if you might like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?"

"I'd love to."

"Needless to say, you're buying."

######

EPILOGUE

A month later, another late-night knock on Wilson's door. He wasn't even going to hazard a guess this time.

It was House _and_ Cuddy, their arms wrapped around each other, slightly tipsy, but in a giddy, celebratory way.

"Can Wilson come out to play?" Cuddy asked.

"It's after midnight," Wilson groaned.

"Which is why we brought the celebration to you!" House said, reaching into his coat and handing Wilson a bottle of champagne. "That might've gotten a little shaken on the ride over," he added.

"What are we celebrating?" Wilson asked, looking at the bottle of champagne like it might spontaneously combust. He was still slightly annoyed by their unannounced arrival, but had to admit that their good cheer was somewhat infectious.

"Go ahead, show him," House said.

Cuddy held out her hand: An engagement ring.

"Whoa," Wilson said.

"Yeah, I figured since Dominika wasn't using it. . ." House cracked.

Cuddy swatted him.

"She loves that joke."

"Is this for real?" Wilson said.

"As real as the Housewives of New Jersey, my friend. I decided that if I married her, she couldn't dump me again with a note."

"Also, he promised to do 10 more hours of clinic duty a week if I said yes," Cuddy said.

"That too," House agreed.

They beamed at each other.

"I don't want to dampen the excitement here, but isn't this all a little too soon? A few weeks ago, you were at each other's throats."

"And we will be again," said House, squeezing Cuddy's hand.

"Oh yeah, it's pretty much a given," said Cuddy, rubbing his arm. He noticed they couldn't keep their hands off each other.

"In the end, it was drive each other crazy together or drive each other crazy apart," said House.

"We chose together," said Cuddy.

Wilson looked at them. His two best friends—now and, apparently, forever.

"I'll get the glasses," he said.


End file.
